To Arrive Where We Started
by macaroni and ceej
Summary: When brought together under less-than-desirable circumstances, the Doctor and old frenemy Dean Winchester must work together against a threat unlike anything they've ever seen. Features Teen!Dean and Human!TARDIS
1. Chapter 1

_We shall not cease from exploration, and at the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time._

T.S. Eliot

The Doctor grabbed Clara's hand. She immediately wrenched it away from him, a look of disgust on her face.

"I don't need to hold your hand, Doctor!"

"Sorry," the Doctor mumbled, glancing over his shoulder into the shadows of the alleyway they were hiding in. Clara noticed the color had drained from his face. His eyes were wide and his hands were shaking. If anyone needed a hand to hold, it was him.

Suddenly, a loud crashing came from around the corner. Two figures came into view. "Damn," the Doctor whispered. "Run!"

Feet pounded into pavement. Clara wiped the sweat from her forehead.

"I can't believe I let these arseholes get ahold of the TARDIS," the Doctor hissed through short, sharp breaths.

"What are these things again?" Clara asked.

The Doctor laughed. "No idea. Isn't that marvelous!"

The alleyway came to an abrupt end. Clara skidded to a stop, catching the Doctor before he crashed into the brick wall before them.

"Thanks," he breathed, brushing off his shoulders. Footsteps and voices echoed behind them.

"We gotta go," said Clara. "Here!" She pointed out a door into one of the buildings on the left side of the alleyway. One quick flourish of a sonic screwdriver later, and the door pleasantly clicked open for them.

The pair dashed into the building, which turned out to be a little bookshop. They barreled past fiction and biographies and through the front door.

A busy city street greeted them. They darted into the traffic. Clara looked over her shoulder. Their pursuers emerged from the bookshop. "Go, go!" she yelled.

All of a sudden, a loud, blaring honk pierced the Doctor's ears. He turned. Clara screamed. The black, 1967 Chevrolet Impala that was about to smash into them screeched to a halt.

The Doctor gaped at the old car. Memories of an ill-tempered American with questionable parenting methods flooded his thoughts. He stood still in shock.

"Doctor, we have to run-"

The driver's door flew open.

"What the HELL was-"

Dean paused. "Doctor?"

 **Hello, everyone! This is my first story on this website. I'm super excited to be joining this awesome community of readers and writers. Don't forget to hit me up with a follow/review if you want to keep up with the story! Thanks for giving me a read! Hope you enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

•••

OCTOBER, 1996

•••

Dean sighed loudly, pressing his chin even further into his palm. He gazed silently out of the window of the Impala, watching the clouds and countryside go by. His eyebrows were furrowed and a frown seemed to be permanently etched into his expression.

 _God, what a drama queen_ , Sam thought.

Dean was thinking of Georgia, his girlfriend he left back in Colorado. Normally he didn't let himself get too attached to anyone, but Georgia was a special one. Dean noticed Sam watching him.

 _Let him stare,_ Dean thought to himself. _I don't care. I'm in a goddamn mood._

"Well, boys," John said from the driver's seat, breaking the awkward silence, "we're almost there."

Their new lives in Glen City, Oklahoma were about to begin. Sam would be going to Daniels Middle School, and Dean to Peterson High School. They were planning to rent a nice motel suite, and their father would do his job. Totally normal.

Sam would be the "freak" at school again, and Dean would spend his days skipping class and cleaning his sawed-offs. Together they would sit up at night flicking bedbugs off cheap motel sheets, waiting for their father to stumble in drunk and covered in blood. Totally normal.

After an exhausting drive, the Impala pulled into the parking lot of the Starry Motel in Glen City.

"Boys, help me unload the trunk," John called.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, carrying duffel bags of shotguns and ammo into their room, "you still haven't had your first kiss, yet, have you?"

Sam blushed. "Shut up, Dean," he mumbled. He set his bags on one of the beds, which did not appear to have bedbugs (thank god).

"Well, I think we should make it a goal for you to have it in Glen City, Oklahoma," Dean announced, beaming.

"I said shut up, Dean," Sam growled, a light shade of pink still in his cheeks.

"Come on, man! Live a little! It's time for you to grow up, be a man!"

Sam gave Dean the stink eye. Dean grinned.

"Alright, alright," Dean said, giving up on the matter. "You will make some friends though, right?"

Sam nodded, but said nothing.

Dean stopped grinning. Inside, some deep, repressed part of him hoped that maybe, maybe this time would be different. Maybe Sammy would make some friends for once. Maybe they would fit right in at their schools. Maybe Dad would take them out to eat or to a movie. Maybe he wouldn't feel so trapped. Maybe, just maybe, this time he would be able to keep his family happy.


	3. Chapter 3

•••

APRIL, 2017

•••

Silence consumed the street. Or, it seemed to, until half a second later horns were blaring and angry drivers were shaking their fists.

"Hey, Gramps!" someone shouted. "Take your little reunion onto the sidewalk!"

The Doctor finally tore his gaze away from the car. "Gramps?!" he shouted angrily. "I'll have you know, I've saved your dirty little planet more times than you can count, you ungrateful pri-"

"Enough, Doctor," Clara scolded. "Let's go!" She glanced at the two figures across the street.

All of a sudden, their eyes flashed black. They sprinted towards the Impala.

"Oh, goddammit," Sam groaned. He and Dean shared a frustrated look.

"Get in!" Dean slammed the driver's door shut as the Doctor climbed in the backseat. Clara hesitated.

"Doctor, how can we trust them?"

"Don't trust them. Trust me."

Clara followed.

"Go, go, go!" Sam shouted.

Dean slammed on the gas, and the car lurched forward, carrying what might have been the strangest passengers in the universe.

•••

"Dean, what the HELL just happened?" Sam shouted once they were a comfortable distance away from the demons.

"Well, we were peacefully cruising along when these two friggin' idiots decided to throw themselves in front of my baby. And, if that wasn't enough, they got in the way of what should have been an easy job. I'm dropping them off at the nearest gas 'n sip."

Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. Clara and the Doctor shared worried glances. "You can call me the Doctor, and this is Clara-"

Sam didn't seem to hear him. "Who are these people?" he demanded.

Dean looked up, searching for the right words. "The Doctor is an old...acquaintance of mine."

"Acquaintance doesn't even begin to cover it..." the Doctor mumbled.

"So... What? Are you a hunter?" Sam asked.

The Doctor crinkled his nose. "Of course not. I'd NEVER be one of those, those senseless murderers, with their 'shoot first ask questions later' mentality and their GINORMOUS egos, and-"

Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening. "Their what now?"

"Boys," Clara warned, a stern expression on her face. The Doctor ignored her.

"I can't believe you've grown up to be just like your father... It's a shame, really."

Chaos erupted in the Impala.

"Say that ONE MORE TIME." "Dean, who ARE these people-" "Doctor, please-" "I am a 1200-year-old Time Lord, I am the oncoming storm, I am-" "You're a piece of SHIT, is what you are!" "Dean, shut the hell up!" "Boys." "Talk shit about my dad one more time, you fucktruck-"

"BOYS!"

Clara's voice cut through the argument. Dean and the Doctor, both red-faced and fuming, fell silent.

"Thank you," Clara breathed in relief. "Now, let's figure this out calmly and orderly."

No response. _God, they're all such children_ , Clara thought.

"My name is Clara Oswald. The Doctor and I were traveling together when our vehicle was stolen."

Sam was the first to speak. "Sam Winchester. This is my brother Dean, but you seem to already know him."

Clara shook her head. "I've never met Dean before."

Sam sighed. "Well, I promise you, he's not always this ornery-"

Dean coughed loudly. Finally, he spoke.

"Look, that sign says there's a gas 'n sip a mile away. Once we get there, you two are getting out."

"No," said Clara. "We need to find the TARDIS, and I get the feeling you can help us."

"Help you? Sweetheart, that is the LAST thing on my list right now."

"Dean, we came to this town hunting demons, and now demons have their tar-whatever," Sam said.

"TARDIS," the Doctor piped in from the back.

"Whatever," Sam said. "My point is, helping them is in both of our interests. It's a win-win situation."

"I like this one," Clara said. "He listens to reason." She smiled.

Who's _got the ginormous ego again?_ Sam thought, but he couldn't help but smile back.

"Come on, you two," Dean groaned. "Save your sexual tension for later."

Clara frowned. "Dean, is it?" she said.

Dean nodded. "I'm listening, angry British chick."

Clara took a deep breath. "I've only just met you, but I can tell you're a care-er. I can tell you're the type of person that would listen to me if I were to tell you that in the wrong hands, the TARDIS can do much worse than simply kill everyone you care about. It can do much worse than simply destroy this tiny, fragile planet. It can rewrite all of history to where humanity, instead of leading life as we know it, is trapped inside a never-ending mass of unimaginable agony. But if you help us, you can stop that. Because you're a care-er."

A long silence followed. Dean sighed deeply, trying to get a grip on what was happening. The Doctor was here, and so was the TARDIS. Dean had tried to forget his history with the funny old man, but his past was catching up to him...

"I never want to see that fugly blue box again, but I'll help you," he finally said.

"Thank you," the Doctor replied. "Wait, what?!" he added. "You can't say that about Sexy!"

"Now listen here, you cantankerous unibrow..."


	4. Chapter 4

•••

1996

•••

The first day at Peterson high school was just as disappointing as Dean expected. The teachers were boring, the students were boring, everything was boring. Dean passed the time in history class (his least favorite) by doodling.

He was putting the finishing touches on a drawing of himself as a superhero, proudly holding up the detached head of a vamp, when the teacher placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Mr.-?" The teacher spoke with a strange accent, gruff and sardonic, probably Scottish. He wore an odd red suit of velvety material, and his eyebrows were large and bushy and gray. The look in his electric blue eyes was angry and intense, but it didn't faze Dean. He hadn't ever been afraid of teachers before, why should he be now?

"Winchester," Dean finished, breaking away from his drawing and leaning back comfortably in his chair. "Dean Winchester." He held out a hand to shake. "It's a pleasure, sir." Some girls a couple desks over giggled. Dean winked at them.

The teacher ignored Dean's outstretched hand. "What are you drawing, Mr. Winchester?"

"A doodle, sir," Dean replied. More giggles.

"A doodle? Well, now. This is quite a work of art." The odd teacher held up the drawing, studying it carefully.

"Why, thank you, sir. I worked very hard on it."

In one quick motion, the teacher whipped out a silvery object from inside his jacket and held it against the paper. The end of the device lit up a bright green and emitted a high-pitched buzz. The corner of the paper burst into flames, and soon fire had consumed the whole drawing. The class gasped. Dean was instantly intrigued.

The classroom was completely silent. "Why'd you burn my doodle, sir?" Dean asked calmly. "I was going to sell that doodle to a fat, rich art collector. That doodle was going to pay my bills and buy my groceries."

When this elicited no response, Dean tried again. "Why, sir? Please, sir."

"You may call me Mr. Smith," the teacher growled in reply. "And I don't appreciate sass."

With that, Dean was satisfied. He gave up on doodling during the rest of the period, opting instead to exchange flirty looks with the girls a couple desks over, and to wonder about that strange device.

•••

Dean had always been curious, and perhaps some part of him knew it was dangerous to be so, but tonight that part was pushed deep into the back of Dean's mind and forced to be silent.

Sammy was crashed on one of the motel beds, his floppy hair obscuring his eyes and his mouth hanging open. Dean watched him, smiling. He looked so innocent and pure, so peaceful. Dean wished he could stay that way forever.

Dean hated leaving Sammy alone, but he just had to know what that odd device that set his drawing on fire was.

Slowly and carefully, Dean crept out of the motel room. Dad had taken the car, so he would have to walk to the school. He turned up the collar of his worn leather jacket against the night chill and shoved his hands in his pockets. Above, the small-town stars were twinkling happily. The moon was big and bright, casting shadows on the sleeping world. All around, crickets sang their nighttime song, and an occasional frog croaked long and deep.

When Dean reached the school, he noticed it seemed more looming and mysterious than in the daytime. Using the shadows as his cover and his trusty lock pick, he clicked open the back door.

Dean prowled about the campus until he came to his history classroom. He unlocked the door and crept inside.

He began to rummage through the teacher's desk drawers, keeping an eye out for the strange device. When this failed, he exhaled loudly in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair.

 _It's gotta be around here somewhere,_ he thought.

There! The device lay waiting on the back bookshelf. Dean scooped it up. The sleek metal felt cool against his skin. He rubbed his fingers against the variety of buttons before stuffing it in his pocket.

Suddenly, a loud noise broke the silence. It was unlike any sound Dean had ever heard, it was a low growling vroom and the whirl of a washing machine. It reminded Dean of the small earthquake he had experienced in San Francisco when he was around 10. It sounded as if the Impala had a voice and was speaking, and it sounded _alive_.

Most importantly, it sounded close. Dean immediately drew his pistol.

As if the situation couldn't be strange enough, a breeze began to blow about the classroom, rustling through papers and sending them to the ground. Dean clutched his jacket closer and headed for the door.

By the time the TARDIS appeared in the classroom in all its glory, Dean was already on his way back to the motel.


	5. Chapter 5

•••

2017

•••

Dean collapsed on the motel bed, hugging the white paper bag close to his chest.

"God bless breakfast tacos!" He declared.

Sam nodded in agreement, unwrapping his taco and taking a bite. "Gosh, I forgot what real Mexican food tastes like. We haven't been to Texas in a while."

"Texas?" The Doctor led Clara into the room and closed the door behind them. "Is that where we are?"

Sam gave him a puzzled look.

"The TARDIS isn't exactly a reliable ride," Clara explained.

"Oh," Sam said, and wondered just what kind of trouble this "TARDIS" was going to get them into. "Well," he continued, "we made the trip down to Leon Springs because this town has been having some demon-related trouble lately-"

"-you know, droughts, floods, livestock death, that sort of thing," Dean finished. "Except there's something fishy going on-"

Clara stopped him. "Wait. You mean actual demons?"

"Mhmm," Sam said, mouth full of egg, potato, and cheese. He popped open his laptop to tune into police scanners and skim through reports.

"So you weren't joking." Clara paused a moment to put her hair in a ponytail. "Well, then. How do we stop them?"

"Salt and holy water helps. An exorcism will get them off your back for a bit, but you can kill 'em with your good ol' garden-variety angel blade," Dean replied.

"No killing!" The Doctor shouted, breaking his attention away from the bedside telephone he was reassembling into a robotic dog. "There will no killing." He glared at Dean. "Of anything."

Dean ignored him. "You'll probably want one of these," he said to Clara, handing her an anti-possession pendant.

Looking at it, she stifled a laugh. "Oh my God. You really are insane. Doctor, they're insane!"

"Look, Clara! I've made us a mascot!" The Doctor exclaimed joyfully, whipping out his sonic screwdriver and pointing it at the robot dog until it began to prance around in circles before falling off the bedside table.

"Aww, Sammy, look!" Dean said, a grin spreading across his face. Clara noticed a sort of wonder in that grin, and began to see that underneath the hard shell, there existed a soul that had once been a curious child, that had once longed to take in the world with wide eyes, and that had once loved a funny old man in a blue box as his own father.

The Doctor scooped the dog away from Dean and stuffed it in his coat, where it struggled against the thick fabric of his pocket. "Did I say it was your mascot? No. No I did not."

Suddenly Sam leaped up from his seat, knocking the remains of his breakfast taco on the floor. Dean eyed it longingly.

"Are you gonna eat that? Because-"

"Get your suit on, Dean," Sam said in a strikingly serious tone. Dean understood him instantly.

"Oh, shit."

•••

By the time the Impala pulled up to the Leon Springs high school, the police had already swarmed the scene.

"FBI," Sam announced, flipping open his badge and approaching the officer who appeared to be in charge. "Agents Hartnell and Baker."

"And Agent Smith," the Doctor chimed, displaying his psychic paper. Sam and the policemen saw an official Federal Bureau of Investigation badge. Dean saw an index card on which was scribbled "Cooler Than You!" He rolled his eyes.

"I thought we told you to wait in the car," Sam said under his breath to the Doctor.

"Funny, I don't remember anything like that."

"Oh, Christ," the officer mumbled, removing his thin-rimmed glasses and rubbing his eyes. "Thank you so much for coming."

The officer, whose name was Gonzalez, led them to the scene. There were clear signs of a struggle. In the midst of it, the contents of the victim's purse had exploded everywhere. A blood-stained makeup compact, pack of gum, and set of keys littered the ground. Sam noticed that among these items lay a small paperback book. He couldn't make out the title, but the author was Carver Edlund. His breath hitched in his throat.

Long smears of blood formed a sickening pathway to the body, over which had been laid a white sheet.

"Mind if we take a look?" Dean asked Officer Gonzalez.

"Not at all," he replied.

Before Dean could lift the sheet, the Doctor gasped with realization. The color drained from his face and he put a hand to his mouth.

"Oh, God," he whispered. "It's a kid."

The victim was a teenage girl, still wearing her school letter jacket and cheerleading uniform, although they were now barely recognizable. Her body was riddled with claw marks, deep and ugly and vicious. Something about them seemed horribly familiar to Dean. Her face was frozen in an expression of pure, unadulterated fear.

Swallowing, Dean replaced the sheet.

"What was her name?" he asked.

"Sabrina Huser. She was class president, captain of the cheerleading squad, and Homecoming queen. It's a damn shame."

Sam jotted the info into a pocket-sized notebook. "Anything else of note?" he inquired. "Did she have any enemies, anyone who might want to hurt her?"

Officer Gonzalez shook his head. "Not that I can think of. In a small town like this, everybody knows everybody, and everybody loved Sabrina."

Sam closed the notebook. "Thank you, Officer."

"No, thank you, Agents," he replied. "Although I'm not really sure why the Bureau sent you. This seems like something Parks and Wildlife would handle."

"So it was an animal attack?" the Doctor asked.

"Oh yeah, definitely," Officer Gonzalez answered.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Dean whispered to Sam.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "Gotta be a werewolf or something. Not our demon."

"Still, those marks didn't look like a werewolf... I think we should look into it."

"Well, we'll be awaiting the coroner's report," Sam said, turning back to Officer Gonzalez, who nodded.

"I sure do hope they catch the damn thing," he added. "This is the third case like this we've had this month."

 _Third?_ Dean raised an eyebrow. He shared a look with Sam and the Doctor.

"Can we see the files for those previous cases?"


	6. Chapter 6

•••

1996

•••

Dean jumped back, startled by the sudden burst of sparks that emitted from the television when he pointed the strange device at it.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed, falling flat on his ass. The clatter woke Sam.

"Dean, what the hell?"

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," Dean muttered, circling around to make sure he hadn't started a fire. After a few moments, the TV, which was so old it had previously played only black and white reruns of _I Love Lucy_ , zapped on to display the full-color, surround-sound wonders of _The X-Files_.

Dean turned to Sam with a wide grin. "Look, Sammy! I fixed the TV!"

Sam's mouth dropped open. "What the- how-"

Dean waved the little device smugly as if it were a magic wand. "Let's just say we can thank Mr. Smith."

"Gimme that! I wanna see it!" Sam grabbed at the device, which Dean whipped away.

"Ah, ah, ah," he gloated, smiling.

"Dean!" Sam whined. "We really oughtta give that to Dad. I bet it has something to do with this case."

Dean shook his head. "No way, José. Finders keepers." He threw his head back and laughed obnoxiously.

While he was distracted, Sam saw his chance. He snatched the device and chucked it out the window, which was open because the motel lacked adequate air conditioning. Dean stopped laughing.

Sam and Dean glanced at each for a moment before making a mad dash outside.

Although Dean was superior in the pushing and shoving department, Sam's prepubescent size made him quicker. He scooped the device off the pavement, scraping his knuckles as he did so.

"Sam Winchester is victorious! Eat SHIT, De-"

And then he was gone.

Dean barreled out of the motel room. "Fuck you, Sam!" he exclaimed, breathless and laughing.

He paused. "Sam?" No response. "Where are you, you little shit?" Silence.

Dean chuckled nervously. "No more playing around, Sam. That thing could be dangerous."

A dull glint in the grass next to the pavement caught Dean's eye. It was the device. Dean reached down and picked it up.

"Ha, ha!" he shouted. "I win after all! Now, come out, Sammy!"

His only answer was the shouts of the alcoholic next door to "Shut your ass up! People are trying to sleep!"

Dean ignored him. "Sammy?" He was starting to panic.

"He's gone, Mr. Winchester," a familiar voice said from the shadows.

Dean whipped around, his heart hammering when he recognized who it belonged to. "Mr. Smith!" he replied, trying to keep a calm visage. "Fancy seeing you here. _In the middle of the night_."

The strange old teacher didn't seem to have heard him. "Yes, quite." He began to pace around, looking for something. "It seems someone has stolen my screwdriver, Mr. Winchester. Do you have anything to tell me?"

 _A_ screwdriver _? He's out in the middle of the night looking for a_ screwdriver _?_

Dean's palms were slick now. Normally he could lie without even thinking about it, but something about the intensity of Mr. Smith's eyes, which seemed way too old for any human being, unnerved him.

"No, sir. Haven't seen anything strange," he managed.

"You're lying," said Mr. Smith, and suddenly the odd device in Dean's pocket felt a lot heavier. "You _have_ seen something strange. A few moments ago, someone was taken. There was a huge energy spike..."

He fell silent and pulled something out of his pocket that reminded Dean of an EMF meter.

"They must have been attracted by the alien force of my screwdriver... It must be around here somewhere..." he muttered to himself.

"Who took him?" Dean interrupted, his fists and teeth clenched.

Mr. Smith looked up with a surprised look that was quickly replaced by determination. "Where's my screwdriver?"

"Tell me where my brother is!" Inside Dean's heart, fierce loyalty was becoming a raging fire.

"Give it to me first."

Dean growled. "Damn you, Mr. Smith."

"I'm already damned, boy."

The night air was thick with tension.

After a few moments, Dean tossed the odd device at the old man's feet.

He picked it up and fiddled with the buttons. The strange buzzing that followed seemed to be the only sound for miles. He stopped and stuffed it in the pocket of his red coat. Then his crazy, ancient eyes met Dean's.

"My name's not Mr. Smith. Call me Doctor. Dean Winchester, do you believe in angels?"

•••

John moved quietly about the graveyard. It had been a week since their arrival in Glen City, and he still didn't have a clue as to what was causing the strange disappearances. However, there was something about this place that seemed like the root of it all.

The root of what exactly, John didn't know.

But he had some thoughts. In 1919, a woman by the name of Margaret Ellis had gone insane and started a fire in her home that killed her three children. Her abusive husband, and probably the reason for her insanity, had escaped. He later remarried and had children, and one of his descendents had gone missing.

That didn't account for the other two victims, but it was a place to start.

As he searched for Ellis' grave, he felt certain that he was in the right place. The moonlight spilled over the graves in a pattern that disguised their shape. The crunch of leaves under John's foot sounded more and more like the rattling of bones. The trees suddenly weren't trees anymore; they became gigantic, alien creatures with malicious, outstretched arms. Here, the word _darkness_ wasn't simply an absence of light, it was a state of being.

But the thing that convinced John the most was the absolute, suffocating silence which surrounded him; not a rodent, nor a bird, nor even a cricket could be heard. It was as if every living thing had either deserted the place, or been devoured.

Finally, he spotted the grave. He sat down his shovel and cracked his knuckles.

 _Here comes the hard part_ , he said to himself.

Then he began to dig, not noticing the movement of a stone statue in the distance.


	7. Chapter 7

•••

2017

•••

"April 3. Jonathan Piper, age 13. Found dead on arrival behind a local diner, body covered with the same marks as Sabrina Huser."

Officer Gonzalez passed the file to Sam, who opened it to reveal gruesome pictures, police reports, and a blood-stained lottery ticket in a plastic evidence bag.

"What's this?" Sam asked, examining the bag.

"Five million dollar winning lottery ticket found in the kid's pocket," Officer Gonzalez answered. "Further investigation revealed it was purchased by Jonathan's older brother. Such a shame. That family really needs that money, but they got a tragedy instead."

Dean thumbed through the second file. "Twin siblings Billie and Kyle Fields. Kyle was killed during their camping trip on April 14, but Billie made it." He tucked the file under his arm and turned to Officer Gonzalez. "Can we talk to her?"

"Sure," he replied, "but you won't be able to get much out of her. The shock of losing her brother caused something to snap. She only speaks nonsense now. She's always been a fragile girl…"

"We'll see about that," Sam said, handing the first file to Dean. "Thank you for your help, Officer Gonzalez."

Then the pair headed back outside to the Impala, where the Doctor and Clara were waiting.

•••

"And how is this gonna help us find the TARDIS?" Clara said as they entered the sliding doors of the Leon Springs Hospital.

"We find the girl, we find answers. We find answers, we find the demons. We find the demons, we find the TARDIS," Dean explained.

"And you're sure we're on the right track?" the Doctor, skeptical, asked.

"No," Sam answered, "but I have a hunch."

"Great," the Doctor sighed. "The fate of all of time and space rests on a _hunch_."

The foursome approached the front desk. "FBI. We're here to see Billie Fields," Sam said.

As a nurse led them through various hospital wings, Dean crinkled his nose. The antiseptic, sterile, somewhat stagnant smell of hospitals always set him on edge. That smell brought up old memories: memories of the time Sammy broke his arm when he was 7, the time when they went to visit an old hunting buddy of their father's who was dying, the time John Winchester gave up his own life for that of his drop-out, alcoholic, _broken_ son, Dean.

Thinking of these things brought up _feelings_ in Dean Winchester, feelings he never let see the light of day. He grabbed them by the throat and stuffed them back from whence they came.

They reached Billie Fields' room. "Be gentle with her, Agents," the nurse said in a suddenly smaller voice. "She's had to be back in the hospital ever since her brother died. They're considering sending her to a state institution."

"Back?" Clara inquired.

"Yes. She was very recently released after her miraculous recovery from acute lymphocytic leukemia," answered the nurse.

Sam and Dean shared a look before entering the room.

"Let Sam do the talking," Dean whispered to the Doctor.

"You think I don't know how to _talk_ to people?" the Doctor hissed in reply.

"Yes. Yes I do."

"Miss Fields? I'm Agent Hartnell, FBI," Sam said gently.

"If you're here about my brother, you might as well go away," Billie replied without looking up from her copy of Stephen King's _It._ She was skinny and long-limbed, with sharp features. Her hair was cut in a boyish pixie style and dyed platinum blonde, and her eyes were dark and piercing. From under her hospital clothes an indistinguishable tattoo peeped out, even though her file said she was just seventeen. She sat down her book and glared at Sam, lifting her chin as she did so. Everything about her stature and expression seemed to imply that she was the human version of a rapier.

"We just want to ask you a few questions-"

"You know, I really like this book," Billie interrupted. "The monster in here turns into whatever you're afraid of. That's what happened to Kyle. He wasn't afraid of anything, so the monster that killed him was...nothing." Despite her hard expression, a few defiant tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

"Nothing? What do you mean?" the Doctor asked. Dean tried to elbow him away, but he pushed through and approached Billie.

"You won't believe me," she said, raising the book back in front of her face. "None of the others did."

Sam smiled. "Try us."

Billie took a deep breath, lowering the book. "It was invisible," she replied.

"Invisible?" Dean asked. Finally, they were on to something. "Did you notice anything else? Any funny smells, weird flashes of light, something like that?"

Billie's long body seemed to shrink back into itself. "No, there wasn't anything…"

"Surely you can remember something else," Sam encouraged. "Think hard about that camping trip-"

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LOSE A BROTHER!"

The Doctor took a step back, stunned by Billie's sudden outburst. Not meaning to, Sam and Dean spoke in unison. "Actually, we do."

Billie wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whimpered. "He was my twin. They're right, you know. There really is a connection. He gave up everything for me…"

 _Son of a bitch_ , Dean thought. _I hope I'm wrong._ "What do you mean by that, Billie?"

She laughed, curt and cutting. "You won't believe this, either."

The Doctor knelt down next to the hospital bed. He opened his mouth to speak but was distracted by the book. He picked it up and flipped through the pages with inhuman speed.

" _Ooh_ ," he said, miming a shiver. "That's a good one.

Billie," he continued, "the four of us have seen, if you'll excuse my language, a lot of shit. I've been places and done things so astounding I still don't believe it, things so horrific even good 'ol Stephen King couldn't dream them up. So don't worry about whether or not people will listen to you, whether or not you'll be believed. That's what the four of us are here for."

Billie's sharp eyes widened, but something in them reflected relief, gratitude. She spoke.

"Kyle cured my leukemia. He met this chick at Wing Palace who said she could do it. He told me all he had to give up was his soul."

Dean's heart sank.

"We laughed when he told me about it, because we never really believed in souls or the afterlife or whatever. But now," she sniffed, "now, I'm not so sure…"

"How long ago was this?" Sam asked.

"Umm, I guess it was around April seventh? Yeah, I think it was the seventh exactly."

"Thank you for all your help, Billie," Dean said suddenly, grabbing Sam and the Doctor by the arm. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to give us a call."

"And if you want more Stephen King, I've got a copy of my favorite novel of his you can borrow!" the Doctor offered as Dean dragged him out of the room. "Oh wait, it's not supposed to come out until 2023. Nevermind then!"

•••

The Wing Palace was the most popular restaurant in Leon Springs, and it was easy to see why. When Sam and Dean arrived, it the place was packed. Classic country music poured from the open windows and front door. Inside, teenagers played a casual game of pool while their parents shouted passionately at the sports game on TV. The smell of good food permeated the entire atmosphere.

Upon entering, Dean took a seat at the bar. The bartender was a tall, athletically built woman with a long blonde braid running down her back. When she turned around and saw him, she gave him a quick wink. Something in her arched eyebrows and youthful green eyes held a spark of mystery, of playfulness. Dean was reminded of Jo.

"What'll you have, sweetheart?"

Dean grinned. He had forgotten how much he loved Texas women. "Surprise me."

Meanwhile, Sam sat alone in a corner booth, typing furiously at his laptop and munching on a large basket of kale chips. He glanced up from his research and scanned the room.

 _This place is so packed, anyone could be our demon_ , he thought. He watched the group of teens playing pool carefully. As he watched, a woman, older than the boys, approached. A mountain of bouncy, brunette curls was balanced on top of her head and she wore a large smile. After talking to them, they handed her a cue. She licked her lips, closed one eye, and nailed a perfect shot, sinking two balls at once. The boys applauded. One of them seemed particularly taken with her.

Sam was immediately suspicious, but he couldn't leave his research unfinished. He returned to his laptop and kale chips, keeping an eye on the brunette.

Dean, now buzzed from both the house beer and the bartender's eyes, was happily chatting with the bartender, whose name was Ashley.

"So you're a cop, huh?" Ashley asked.

"Federal Agent, ma'am," Dean replied, grinning and flipping open his badge.

Squinting, Ashley read the name on the badge. "Agent Baker," she said, placing her hands firmly on her hips. She threw back her head and laughed. It sounded as if the birds that were contained in the forest of her eyes had escaped and were singing.

"Well, Agent," she continued, "I bet you've got a lot of stories to tell. Care to share?" She cocked her head to one side and fluttered her eyelashes.

"Sorry, but that's classified." Dean leaned forward onto the bar, shortening the distance between Ashley's face and his.

"You know what else is classified?" Ashley said, bringing the space between them to a close. She was whispering in his ear now. "What I'm gonna do to you later."

Dean felt a hot flush race through his body.

"I get off at 10:30," she continued. "Meet me here."

"Will do, beautif-" Dean was interrupted by a customer, still red-faced from the excitement of the sports game, calling for Ashley.

"I'll be right there, Warren!" she called. She gave a last wink to Dean before walking away.

"Dean, you're blushing."

Dean jumped. "Son of a bitch, Sam! Don't sneak up on people like that!"

Sam smirked. "Now is not the time for flirting, Dean. I think we've found our guy."

Sam turned around to point out the brunette to Dean.

"Uh, where?" Dean took a sip of beer.

"Dammit!" Sam exclaimed. "She's got him. Curly-headed brunette."

The brothers sprang into action.

"You get the front, I'll get the back," Dean said. They split up, each sprinting in his respective direction.

Dean tumbled out the back door. He drew his pistol, jaw clenched as he saw the brunette and a teenage boy engaged in a deep kiss in the shadow of the alleyway behind the restaurant. He raced in and tore the two apart, pinning the brunette against the wall.

"I know who you are. Chances are you know who I am. So you better take it seriously when I tell you to go back to Hell right now or I'll tell Crowley about this not-so-honest crossroads business you've been running," Dean demanded, nearly shouting. "So tear up this poor kid's contract and leave!"

The brunette whimpered. Fat tears welled up in her eyes. She let out a loud sob.

"Please don't hurt me!" she cried through pathetic sniffles. "I know I'm older than him but I didn't think it made that much of a difference! Don't kill us, please!"

Dean stepped back, thoroughly confused. He pulled a flask of holy water from the pocket of his jacket and splashed some in her face. When she didn't react, he did the same to the boy. Nothing.

"Oh, fuck," Dean sighed, putting a hand to his forehead. "I am so sorry." He took a wad of twenties from his wallet and offered them to the girl, who shakily took them. "Just take this and let's forget this ever happened, okay?"

The girl wiped her eyes before stuffing the cash into her cleavage. She took the boy's hand and they dashed down the alleyway.

 _God, I can't believe I was so stupid!_ Dean thought to himself. _I guess I'll just call Sam and tell him to go back inside-_

Before he could pull out his phone, the coconut-like sound of a blunt object hitting his head echoed in his brain. A warm feeling soon followed, and Dean slipped from consciousness.

"Dammit, Winchester," Ashley said, "but you just couldn't wait 'til 10:30, could you?"


	8. Chapter 8

•••

1996

•••

The TARDIS was never simply a piece of machinery. She was never even simply the living soul inside it. The TARDIS was, and has been, and always will be, a feeling.

Dean felt it upon stepping inside.

Initially, it was as if all the air was sucked out of him at once. The strange beauty which his eyes attempted to process threatened not to blow his mind, but to implode it. His chest seemed to sink with awe. Then, it became a warmth that was rooted in his heart and spread out to his entire being. It was the kind of warmth he felt when he shared a beer with Bobby ("You're still a kid, Dean," Bobby would protest, finally conceding with a "but I guess just this once."), completely different from the numbness he felt when he drank alone. Finally, it was hope; the realization that the whole world spread out before him, not just Earth, not even just Heaven or Hell, but all the ever was and all that ever could be.

This is what the TARDIS has always been.

It has also always been bigger on the inside, as Dean noted when he stepped in.

The Doctor smiled. Something about Dean drew him in, as if he were a child from another universe. The callouses on his hands and premature lines on his face told the Doctor that this kid had stories, lots of them. Like Dean, the Doctor was curious. That was the foundation of their friendship, that curiosity for each other.

The Doctor whipped around to the console, his red coat billowing behind him like the cape of the superheroes Dean loved so much.

"Now, you've got quite an infestation here," he said, pressing buttons seemingly at random. "It'll be tricky to track down the one that took your brother, but I think with a little luck," he paused to pull down a large lever, "we can do it."

Dean stepped up to the console and ran his hand along its smooth surface, mouth hanging open.

"Doctor," Dean started a few moments later, "you said earlier that these 'angels' were parasites. So, what? Are they like ghosts or demons, possessing people?"

The Doctor let out a short laugh. " _Demons?_ Don't mock me, kid. This is the real world."

"Demons _are_ real, Mr. Smith, erm, Doctor," Dean protested. "I haven't seen one, but my dad taught me how to do an exorcism just in case I need to-"

The Doctor shook his head and chuckled in disbelief. "Good God, this time I really picked up a crazy…" he muttered to himself.

"Hey! I heard that!" Dean exclaimed angrily.

"I'm sorry to break it to you, kid," the Doctor said condescendingly, "but ghosts? Demons? They're only fairytales we tell children so they'll behave."

Dean paused, confusion replacing the anger on his face. "You're not a hunter, are you?"

The Doctor stopped fiddling around the TARDIS. "A what?"

Dean's heart began to hammer. He laughed nervously. "Then what the hell is this?" He gestured to the TARDIS console. "I thought it was some sort of witchcraft, all these symbols-"

"The Gallifreyan?"

Dean laughed again. "Boy, I wish Sammy was here, he's really good with this kind of stuff…" Dean looked up suddenly, making eye contact with the Doctor. "What _are_ you?"

 _Might as well tell the truth_ , the Doctor thought. _If this kid really believes in demons, he'll believe anything._

"I'm a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey."

Dean's eyes widened.

"You're from a different _planet_?" He doubled over in laughter. "And _I'm_ the crazy? Aliens? Ha! _Those_ are the fairytales, Doctor!"

The Doctor's bushy eyebrows cinched together with indignation. Not saying a word, he flipped some more levers on the TARDIS console.

Strange lights flashed all over the console. A low hum emitted from deep below the floor. The room began to shake.

"Doctor?" Dean asked, placing a hand on the console to steady himself. "What the hell is happening?"

"You wanna get your brother back, don't you?" the Doctor shouted from the other side of the console, still furiously pulling levers.

Dean tried to nod, but the contents of his stomach threatened to surface if he dared move his head.

"Well, then you've got to fly with me!"

" _Fly?_ No thank you, Doc, I'll stick with driv-"

A sudden jolt threw Dean to the floor, where he immediately lost consciousness.

•••

SOMEWHERE IN TIME AND SPACE

•••

Sam Winchester woke, rubbing the back of his head.

"Dean?" he called. "What happened?"

He blinked a couple times, the sunlight blinding him. It had been night a few moments ago, hadn't it? He must've fallen asleep. But no, the motel was nowhere in sight and that house wasn't there before, was it? The whole thing was a little disconcerting-

 _Oh no_ , he thought. _What if that thing Dad's been hunting got me?_ And then, an even worse thought: _What if I'm dead?_

Sam pinched himself and decided he was not dead.

He stood, brushing off his hand-me-down jeans. He put up a hand to shield his eyes from the unforgiving sun and took a good look around.

"Dean?" he called again. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. " _Dean!_ " Then, more hesitantly: "Dad?"

Sam began to panic. "Dad! Dean! Where are you guys?"

But there was no answer.

•••

The Doctor stooped over Dean, the ends of his coat brushing Dean's nose. Dean sat up, groaning and rubbing his head. He hadn't been out very long. Just a few seconds.

"Well, that's a reaction I haven't ever gotten," the Doctor chuckled. He handed something to Dean that resembled a miniature dragon fruit. "Here. You better eat this."

"Wha…"

"You chew it. It's like candy. You'll feel better, I promise."

It wasn't really like candy, but Dean did feel a lot better.

"I've got something to show you," the Doctor said, smiling and offering Dean a hand to help him up. He snapped his fingers and the TARDIS door creaked open.

Almost instinctively, Dean headed toward it.

"Oh! Wait a second." The Doctor stopped him. He reached down and picked up a spool of rope. "Tie this around your waist."

"That's kinky…" Dean mumbled, still feeling a little dizzy. He obeyed.

"Now close your eyes."

"I'm getting some serious rape-y vibes from you, old man," Dean said, but he closed them anyway. Something inside him told him he could trust the Doctor, even though he really didn't trust anyone.

Dean stepped out the door and into nothingness. The air disappeared below his feet and he yelped, snapping his eyes open.

The universe opened before him. The great beyond. Everything was still and spinning at the same time. With eager yet not truly understanding eyes, Dean absorbed it all. Vastness. Clarity. Infinite blackness and the multitude of stars. He was out floating among them, and suddenly he understood the meaning of the term space.

"Do you believe in aliens now?"


	9. Chapter 9

•••

2017

•••

"...dean...deeeeean…"

The fuzziness behind Dean's eyes began to ebb away.

"Hello? Any Winchesters home?"

Dean felt someone knocking obnoxiously on his forehead.

"Fuck off…" he muttered.

"Aha! You're awake."

With some effort, Dean opened his eyes. Ashely was straddling his lap, a baseball bat swung over her shoulder. Her braid had become slightly messy, and her giddy smile made her green eyes sparkle.

 _Crazy bitch_ , Dean thought. _But…in a sexy way?_

Dean groaned and shifted in his seat. Slowly, pain returned to his body. The root of it seemed to be the back of his head. He wondered if it was bleeding.

However, when he tried to lift his hand to check, he found that he was tied to a chair.

"Son of a bitch," he said. He made eye contact with Ashley and attempted to look intimidating. "Get the fuck off me."

She laughed, no longer sweet and musical, but cruel and harsh. "Funny, but it seemed like you were willing to take any chance you could get to have me sit on you."

Dean gritted his teeth and scowled in response. Ashley faked a pout and leaned closer.

"So you don't want to fuck me anymore?"

The fuzziness that Dean thought was gone suddenly returned.

"Yes I do!" He shook his head, utterly confused. "No, no…"

Ashley pulled away, and Dean's head cleared.

"That...that was _before_ I knew you were a crazy bitch," he spat. "Now _get off_."

Ashley laughed again. "How cute. He thinks he can tell a Prince of Hell what to do."

Dean's eyes widened. "Son of a _bitch_ ," he said again.

All of a sudden, Ashley flung the baseball bat across the room, making Dean jump. This made her giggle, and she climbed off his lap.

Dean took a look around the room. It was large and open, with a concrete floor and walls. In one corner a variety of spellbooks and materials was balanced on a table, in another-

Dean inhaled sharply. It was the TARDIS, its door wide open and several malicious-looking cables running out of it. He coughed, and the pain in his head intensified. He tried to collect himself.

"You must know who I am," he said.

Ashley raised an eyebrow, taunting him.

"I'm the one who shot your buddy Azazel."

" _Azazel?_ " Ashley grinned. "My _buddy?_ I'm ashamed that I was once acquainted with that obsessed freak."

"Well, what about Ramiel?"

"Coward."

"Dagon?"

"Ass-kisser."

Dean paused. "So, what? You're the most princely Prince of Hell or something?"

"Or something." Ashley turned to go fiddle with the cables connected to the TARDIS.

Dean craned his neck to see what she was up to. He was about to ask (he knew that the only thing demons like more than death and torture is talking about themselves), but he kept his mouth shut.

 _She doesn't know my connection to the Doctor_ , he realized.

"So...who are you, then?" he asked instead.

She turned back to him and smiled, triggering a whole slew of thoughts he neither wanted nor understood.

"I've given up my name," she said after a long pause. "I'm just Ashley now, or Ash, if you like."

Dean sighed. He began to count in his head: _5, 4, 3, 2-_

"But I'm going to kill you anyway, so you might as well know."

 _Bingo,_ Dean thought.

"My name was, for a long time, Asmodeus."

Dean cocked his head. "Who?"

Ashley, clearly infuriated, sniffed loudly. "Whatever. Each of the Princes of Hell has the power of one of the seven deadly sins."

"So there's seven of you?" Dean blurted.

"Well there's _four_ now…" Ashley gave him a cutting look. "Don't interrupt."

She took a moment to push a lock of hair out of her face. "Anyway," she continued, "most of the others tend to keep to themselves and ignore their powers. Think they're too high and mighty to use them. Me? Mine's much too fun to ignore."

She gave Dean a wink, and a sharp pain shot through his chest, making him wince. "I'm the demon of lust."

•••

It was morning when Sam returned to the motel room. He greeted the Doctor and Clara, neither of whom had slept.

The Doctor was tinkering with the robotic dog mascot, which was now able to say the phrase "son of a bitch" and spit holy water. Clara had stayed up all night pouring over lore books and hunter's journals.

She found the whole business infinitely fascinating. Here was a whole community that she had no idea existed! And they seemed like her kind of people, too. Adventurous. Curious. A little naughty. She had no trouble grasping the concepts of ghosts and ghouls and werewolves. It was crazy, sure, but she had seen so much shit that she welcomed the craziness.

"Did you two stay in the room like we told you to?" Sam asked.

"There was an incident involving a Zygon," the Doctor replied, not looking guilty at all. The dog climbed into his hand and wagged its metal tail.

Sam folded his arms and attempted to look stern. "Doctor, we told you, you guys don't have experience with this stuff and it's dangero-"

"It only took fifteen minutes," Clara interrupted, matching Sam's tone. "We took care of the problem."

A tad perturbed, Sam squinted his eyes in a tense staring contest with Clara. _I don't think I can stand to work with these people,_ he thought.

 _He's kinda cute_ , thought Clara.

As soon as it began, the contest was over. Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, if that's the case, then you guys had a more successful time than we did."

"No luck?" the Doctor asked, worried. The longer they took to find Sexy, the more potential there was for something really awful to happen.

"We'll just keep trying," Sam reassured him. "Billie said that our guy hung out at Wing Palace, so we'll scope it out again tonight, and I guess you guys can come-"

Before the Doctor and Clara could respond, Sam's phone rang.

"Dean!" he answered. "I was just about to call you. Where have you been?"

"I'm at that cute bartender's place," Dean's voice answered.

Sam scoffed. "Dean, I told you, this is no time for this kind of thing."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean answered. Sam could picture him rolling his eyes.

"And what about the Impala? You left it at Wing Pa-"

"Boy, I forgot how much I loved Leon Springs," Dean said quickly, cutting him off. "The people, the food… You know, it's a real funky town."

Sam paused. His stomach dropped. He let out a nervous laugh. "Ha. Yep. A real funky town." He hung up abruptly.

"Dean's in trouble," he said, grabbing the keys to the Impala and motioning for Clara and the Doctor to follow.


End file.
